


Froyo Closes at Eleven (And Other Convenient Truths)

by SummerFrost



Series: Coffee Shop AU [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: (Almost) Hook-Up, AU where no-one does hockey, First Meetings, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Sexual Inexperience, That leads to mild discomfort/insecurity, canon-typical alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 07:26:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10355196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerFrost/pseuds/SummerFrost
Summary: After a painful breakup with his first-ever boyfriend, Bitty is on a mission to prove something to himself. Thanks to an attractive stranger in a floral snapback, he learns something better instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first of three winning prompts for my follower milestone event on Tumblr! 
> 
> A prequel of sorts to _Cold Coffee in the Morning_ , set Bitty's freshman year of college at Samwell (Kent's junior year). This is a no-one plays hockey AU, so Jack is off earning his PhD in history somewhere else and Bitty is at Samwell on a partial merit scholarship and hanging out with the Women's Volleyball Team apparently. How did Kent end up at Samwell? Fanfiction magic~
> 
> Thanks as always to my lovely beta and friend, shipped-goldstandard.
> 
>  **A brief content note (mild spoilers):** Bitty will attempt to consent to a situation he isn't actually comfortable with, but Kent will recognize this and remove them both from the situation before anything dubious happens. Read with caution if an anxious inner monologue about sex might make you uncomfortable.

Bitty bites his lip as he does one final spin in front of the mirror, anxiously running over the details of his outfit: the tight jeans with pockets that accentuate the curve of his (small but perky, thank you very much) ass, his favorite shirt (the green one that brings out the hazel in his eyes). The subtle wing of eyeliner he’s debating scrubbing off because maybe it’s a little  _ much  _ and he’s normally a little more subtle, but then again—

Bitty isn’t trying to be subtle. He’s on a mission.

Because Chad was the worst boyfriend ever (or so he’s heard—he doesn’t really have a standard for comparison) and Bitty deserved better anyway, and it’s been a whole two days since the breakup and Bitty definitely isn’t crying over him anymore or anything. The eyeliner isn’t waterproof.

And honestly, where does Chad get off telling Bitty they aren’t working out because they  _ want different things.  _ Or, as Bitty had miserably translated to March and April that night over a plate of rage-cookies: there’s a statue of limitations on how long you’ll wait for your recently un-closeted boyfriend to suck your dick before he’s not worth your time.

Fuck Chad.

Well, not fuck  _ Chad,  _ specifically, but fuck someone tonight, definitely. Yeah. Bitty is  _ sexy.  _ Bitty can  _ have sex.  _ Bitty could be having sex all the damn time if he wanted. It’s definitely something he’s completely comfortable with and ready for and he’s gonna prove it. Honestly.

“You ready, babes?” April asks, swinging her legs from her seat on his bed. She looks absolutely flawless and only a little impatient. “March says she’s already there.”

Bitty flicks his eyes back to his reflection and fluffs his hair one last time. “You betcha.”

 

~*~

 

Bitty’s not even sure who’s throwing this party, to be honest—some people on the volleyball team that the girls know, maybe—but it doesn’t matter much because they have cheap beer and a good playlist and those are the only things Bitty needs to commence Operation Figuratively Fuck Chad by Literally Fucking Someone Else. He loses March and April almost immediately, but that’s okay because his phone is almost fully charged, and he’ll find them if he needs to.

For now, Bitty is busy dancing to Nicki and watching the hot blond in the corner undress him with his eyes. He’s got a floral snapback on backwards, hiding what looks like a mess of hair underneath, and the light is too low to tell what color his eyes are but they’re bright, interested and a little smug without seeming wolfish, exactly. He looks like the kind of boy mamas tell their good Southern girls to stay away from.

Bitty’s sure as hell not in the South anymore. He waits an extra song, just to make sure the guy really is watching him, and then he goes to get another beer from the keg which is completely coincidentally right near where Hot Blond is leaned up against the wall, talking to two guys who’re practically twice Bitty’s size.

High on adrenaline and bravado, Bitty saunters over in a way he’s almost positive is sexy and—good Lord, this boy is even more handsome up close. He has  _ freckles,  _ for God’s sake, and eyes that still don’t have a color and lips that curve into a smirk when he looks over at Bitty, his tongue absent-mindedly flicking out as he shoves his hands in his pockets.

He’s so,  _ so  _ out of Bitty’s league and this is a mistake, why did Bitty ever think—

“Hey, man,” Out of His League says, smirk widening a little. “What’s up?”

And, okay—Bitty has spent a lot of years listening to people who weren’t interested in him say hello to be polite, straight boys who didn’t really want to be talking to him but didn’t quite feel like shoving him into anything either. And this is not that kind of  _ what’s up. _

Bitty purses his lips a little and tries to ignore the intimidating size of Hot Blond’s friends, one of whom is wiggling his eyebrows at the other, earning him an eyeroll. “Um, are you…?”

_ Good Lord,  _ Bitty has no idea how he’s supposed to finish that sentence, honestly, and he’s about to make a strategic emergency exit back onto the dancefloor when—

Hot Blond rakes his eyes up and down Bitty’s body, lingering low, below his chest, before he looks back up at Bitty’s face with an intensity that makes Bitty’s heart pound. “I’m definitely something, yeah,” he says, and his tongue is back again, licking at his lips to wet them, and Bitty can’t help but think of that tongue slipping other places—the seam of Bitty’s lips, the crease of his thigh. “You’re a pretty good dancer. Want a partner?”

Bitty masks the shiver running through his body with a drink of his beer. “I could be convinced,” he answers more breezily than he feels, wondering if the pink on his cheeks is visible in the light and if it can be passed off as a flush from the heat and dancing.

Hot Blond’s smirk drifts into a full smile, a glint of teeth as he passes his drink off to his friend and slips the now-free hand onto Bitty’s waist. He steers Bitty back into the press of bodies in the middle of the room, sighing quietly in what might be pleasure as he nestles himself against Bitty’s back.

Both hands on Bitty’s hips now, he leans in to murmur, “I’m Kent, by the way.”

Bitty leans his head back a little, chasing the wisp of hot breath against his ear. “Most people call me Bitty.”

“Huh,” Kent muses. His hips rock forward, rub his crotch against Bitty’s ass. “Am I most people, Bitty?”

Bitty doesn’t try to hide the shiver this time, shifting tighter against Kent’s chest to let him feel the way his muscles thrill at the contact. This boy is handsome enough to be a model and he’s touching  _ Bitty,  _ gripping his hands on his hips and letting his breathing go a little shallow against his ear, like Bitty is sexy—desirable. Bitty wants to prove him right.

“Why, Kent,” Bitty teases, turning his head a little to catch Kent’s eye. “Are you askin’ if I’m easy?”

Kent laughs softly, surprised, maybe. “Uh—”

Bitty’s lips graze against Kent’s jaw, catch against invisible stubble. “’Cause I am, tonight,” he murmurs.

It’s the most brazen thing he’s ever said and he’s rewarded with a breathless curse tumbling from Kent’s lips before he crushes them against Bitty’s in a kiss. It’s a relatively chaste thing, except for the nip of teeth, but Bitty doesn’t feel shy about turning it a little sloppier.

The song playing has a heavy bass that Bitty grinds to, winding the hand that isn’t still clutching his mostly-forgotten beer around Kent’s neck, playing with the fringe of hair that peeks out from under his snapback as they makeout. Kent tastes like liquor and soda and his fingers are nudging up under Bitty’s shirt with short strokes, little touches that tickle against Bitty’s skin and make him squirm.

Bitty’s half-hard and so is Kent, it feels like, the bulge of denim rubbing against Bitty’s ass growing heavier, solid, like it could slip between his thighs or in—

Well, somewhere, probably.

Bitty breaks their series of kisses to chug his beer, lungs heaving with the sudden free influx of oxygen, shoulders sagging against Kent’s chest. Kent’s mouth moves down to his neck and kisses there instead because apparently he doesn’t need  _ air,  _ would rather lap the sweat from Bitty’s skin. He nips his teeth into the joint where Bitty’s neck meets his shoulder and Bitty splutters on his beer, a sharp intake of breath melting into a moan.

“Wanna get out of here?” Kent asks.

Bitty actually really, really does. He squeezes Kent’s neck before pulling away and says, “Yeah.”

Kent plucks the cup from Bitty’s hand and sets it on a table by the door on their way out, telling him, “My apartment’s like a ten minute walk. That cool?”

The cold air blasts against Bitty’s face and he shivers, tucks himself closer to Kent’s warm body without really meaning to. Kent hums and slides an arm back around Bitty’s waist automatically, like it’s the kind of thing they do all the time, and Bitty’s so busy being flustered he doesn’t remember to pull out his phone and text the girls until they’re maybe three minutes down the road.

“Um. This is kind of awkward?” Bitty says, and Kent looks over at him with amusement. “But my friends say they need a picture of you? You know, in case you’re an axe murderer, or somethin’.”

Bitty feels the tips of his ears going pink, because really it’s just  _ embarrassing  _ even if he knows it is the safe thing to do, and April always says if someone has a problem with it it’s a bad sign anyway, but—Kent just laughs, says, “Yeah, sure,” and tugs them under a streetlight to get better lighting.

They lean in close for the picture, Kent’s cheek smushing up against Bitty’s temple, and, wow—they actually look really good together. Bitty’s glad he let March talk him into getting the undercut he’s secretly wanted since he was sixteen but was always worried about scandalizing Mama Bittle with (but, well, if she handled him coming out over Christmas she can probably take the haircut). Anyway, the point is that he definitely looks older with his new hair which is nice because he still kind of has a babyface and Kent is all strong jaw and thin cheeks, and—

“Holy shit, my eyebrows are on fucking point, man. Send that to me?” Kent asks, already pulling out his phone. “Can I tweet this?”

Bitty laughs, a little because Kent is apparently ridiculous but mostly because he’s really fucking nervous. “Um, sure?”

They swap numbers and Bitty sends the selfie to both Kent and his groupchat with the girls. Neither of them answer right away, but that’s okay; Bitty can worry about them later.

The rest of the walk goes by faster than it feels like it should and suddenly they’re at Kent’s apartment and Bitty’s being kissed up against the door, bracketed by the roll of Kent’s hips and the languid slip of a tongue between his lips, and he’s never done anything like this with anyone besides Chad and it’s so different with Kent—the way he kisses, the little sounds he makes between moments—and he’s trying to untangle that mess when Kent pulls away.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, chuckling, “guess I should give you the tour first, yeah?” And then he waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Bitty doesn’t know if he wants to giggle or just kind of die.

Bitty peers over Kent’s shoulder for a moment, catching his breath while he looks over the tiny apartment. Then he says, “Think I’ve seen most of it,” a playful smile on his face.

“There’s a ‘size isn’t everything’ joke in there somewhere,” Kent tells him, “but I’m too horny to make it.”

Bitty gets out half a laugh before Kent is on him again, the kissing more urgent than before as he walks backwards, leading Bitty through the living room and down a hallway all without coming up for air. It’s a wonder they don’t crash into anything, Bitty thinks absently, but that thought sort of gets shoved out of the way when he’s all but deposited on a bed with a surprised gasp.

Kent plucks the snapback off his head, setting it on his nightstand, and then kicks out of his shoes before flopping down onto the bed. He’s reclined against the pillows with that same self-satisfied expression he was wearing at the party, like he just  _ knows _ he looks good enough to eat, and there’s a tremor in Bitty’s hands that makes it hard to unlace his shoes and he gives up halfway through and pries them off still-tied, even though his mother always gets on him for that.

“Hey,” Kent says softly, eyes bright.

Bitty takes that as an invitation, crawling over to straddle Kent’s thighs and dip down close, nose brushing nose. “Um, hi,” he says back, and Kent laughs when their lips meet.

And this—Bitty’s done this part before too, and it’s good. He knows just how well he can move his hips—probably too well, for someone who’s never quite worked up the nerve to finish what he’s started with the dry humping. But that’s not gonna be a problem tonight.

Kent is pliant under Bitty, all smooth arches of his back and fluid kisses and soft slips of hands down the knobs of Bitty’s spin to cup his ass, nothing hard or tense and Bitty feels like nothing but sharp edges that will cut or bruise if he doesn’t hold himself the exact right way and Kent loses his shirt and Bitty can’t remember who did that.

Bitty should take his shirt off too, probably, but he feels kind of squirmy about it and it’s just—Kent could do so much better than Bitty and he’s clearly done this before and what if Bitty’s terrible at it and Kent laughs at him or what if he gets  _ mad  _ and—

“Hey, d’you like froyo?”

Bitty startles and looks up, but Kent’s already rolling away from him, off the bed, and pulling his shirt back over his head. “Um, what?”

Kent runs a hand through his hair like maybe he’s trying to fix the mess it turned into as soon as he took his shirt off the first time. It doesn’t work and he frowns at himself in the mirror hanging from his closet door. “I totally just realized the Frosty Goose has cake batter today and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Bitty considers the possibility that he shook so hard with nerves he vibrated himself into an alternate timeline. Maybe they already had sex and he missed the whole thing.

“Um. We were gonna—um?” Bitty bites his lip and gestures at himself vaguely to remind Kent, like maybe he forgot.

“Bitty, wanna know a secret?” Kent asks, sitting back down on the bed and crooking his finger. Bitty leans in close obediently, and Kent cups a hand over his ear and everything when he whispers, “My bed’s here all night. Froyo closes at eleven.”

Bitty is too busy being absolutely bewildered to do anything but nod.

“Great!” Kent says cheerfully, and claps Bitty on the shoulder as he stands to grab his hat from where he left it and fit it back on his head.

Bitty reaches for his shoes and jams them back on his feet. His phone tumbled out of his pocket at some point so he grabs that off the floor too and hurries after Kent, who’s already headed for the front door.

The Frosty Goose is a three minute walk back towards campus and they make it in absolute silence, except for whatever song Kent is humming under his breath—it sounds like retro Britney?—and the boisterous laughter of the drunk people they walk past. Bitty wants to say something, maybe ask what the hell is going on, but the words stick in his throat and he pulls out his phone instead.

**_Bitty (10:17 pm):_ ** _ Whats it mean when ur making out w a boy and then he wants froyo instead _

**_March (10:17 pm):_ ** _ Normally I assume hes gay but uh _

**_March (10:17 pm):_ ** _ N/a _

**_April (10:18 pm):_ ** _ Oh honey :( want us to come get you? _

Bitty bites his lip and looks over at Kent. His eyes flick over when he notices Bitty staring and he smiles, nudges him with an elbow.

**_Bitty (10:18 pm):_ ** _ I’m ok 4 now thanks tho _

The door chimes when they walk inside, but the place is pretty crowded and no one really seems to notice them except the girl at the register, who smiles brightly. Kent makes a beeline for the cake batter, but Bitty hangs back a little and looks at his options. In the end he figures he might as well have  _ some  _ adventure tonight, and goes with the honey lavender without even sampling it first.

“Baller,” Kent tells him approvingly, and dumps three spoonfuls of sour gummy worms on top of his yogurt.

Bitty wants to smile but only manages a sort of twitchy lip thing that probably looks more like a grimace. He busies himself with adding a neat pile of blackberries to his cup and dousing rainbow sprinkles on top, lingering a little longer than he really needs to but he sort of wants some space to think for a second, except—

“I’ve got his too,” Kent tells the cashier.

Bitty squeaks, “Oh, no! You don’t have to—”

Kent smirks and raises an eyebrow in challenge, not even breaking eye contact with Bitty when he hands over his card to the cashier. There’s an awkward pause while the girl stares at him expectantly and eventually Bitty gives in just to get everyone to stop  _ looking  _ at him like that, setting his cup on the scale next to Kent’s.

After Kent finishes paying and drops some money into the tip jar, they sit down at a little table in the corner, one of the few empty spots left. Kent makes an obscene noise when he takes his first bite, not too different from the sounds he was making in the apartment before—

“Fuck, I love cake batter,” Kent groans, and tips his cup forward towards Bitty. “Y’want some?”

“Um. Sure?” Bitty reaches over and takes a tentative spoonful that ends up being more topping than actual yogurt. The flavor profile is a hot mess but that’s probably kind of a snobbish thing to say in a froyo shop where all the customers are at least half-drunk, Bitty included, so he just offers, “Want some of mine?”

Kent hums and digs his spoon in, tilting his head at the soft lilac color before taking a bite. He chews thoughtfully before commenting, “Weird. I like it though.”

Bitty offers him a small smile before ducking his head down to stare at his yogurt while he eats, not sure what to say. He’s a rambler at heart and he knows if he opens his mouth he probably won’t shut it again, and he’s already been embarrassed enough tonight, even though the awkward silence kind of makes him want to bolt for the door.

“Hey,” Kent says, kicking lightly at Bitty’s shin, “what’s up?”

“Did I do something wrong?” Bitty blurts, and immediately winces. Fuck. “Um. I mean, am I a bad kisser or something, or, um, did I—why don’t you want to—when we left the party I thought you wanted—”

“Woah, hey.” Kent hooks his ankle around Bitty’s like he can physically contain the outburst, and Bitty clamps his mouth shut. “You didn’t fuck up, man. You’re like, really fucking sexy, okay? Like, I prob’ly could’ve come in my pants just from dancing with you, seriously.”

Bitty worries at his lip with his teeth and decidedly avoids looking Kent in the eye, a pleased thing curling in his stomach despite his persistent confusion. “Oh. Um, then why—?”

Kent leans back in his chair. “’Cause I’m an asshole, but I’m not the kinda asshole who pressures people into fucking me.”

An indignant heat rises onto Bitty’s face and he does look up when he insists, “You weren’t pressuring me! I wanted to.”

Kent responds with an unimpressed eyebrow raise and pops a gummy worm into his mouth.

Bitty fidgets in his seat. “Um. Fine, I guess—I _wanted_ to want to. I just, um—I don’t know? I guess sometimes I still get—oh, Lord, this is so embarrassing.” He buries his face into his arms, slumping against the table to hide the way his eyes are watering. He’s not going to dump eighteen years of baggage on a near stranger in a store called the Frosty Goose. He’s _not._

“Hey, I get it,” Kent soothes, and rests a hand on Bitty’s arm, squeezing gently. “You don’t gotta figure shit out overnight.”

“I just—ugh, I’m so sorry.” Bitty picks his head up but only glances at Kent before fixing his eyes on his froyo again, scooping up a blackberry and biting into it. The juices are sweet against his tongue and it helps, kind of. “This can’t be how you wanted your night to go. I should let you get back to that party or something, really.”

“Hm. Nah,” Kent says. He reaches over and steals a blackberry out of Bitty’s cup. The juice stains his lips a little and Bitty doesn’t feel as bad as he could about staring.

“Um, what?”

Kent shrugs. “I like you. Why would I ditch for some party?”

Bitty feels his cheeks turn pink all over again. “Oh. Um. You’re—you’re not…mad?”

“Wait.” Kent frowns, eyebrows dipping down in a furrow Bitty never wants to put there again. “Why would I—shit, you mean ‘cause we were hooking up?”

Bitty nods nervously, lips pursed.

“Hey, look—before, I was super into getting to suck your dick.” Kent pauses, smirks when Bitty’s eyes widen. “And now I’m super into eating froyo with you. Still a pretty good night, far as I’m concerned.”

“Oh, um—thanks.” Bitty looks up from stirring his melting froyo around in his cup. He smiles tentatively and Kent winks at him in response before chomping down on a mouthful of gummy worms.

“Mhm,” Kent says around his mouthful. “So where’s your sexy Southern drawl from, Bitty?”

Bitty laughs, surprised and a little self-conscious. No one’s ever called his accent sexy before. “Um, Georgia? Where’re you from?”

“New  _ Yawk,” _ Kent answers, purposefully exaggerating his accent with a smirk. “So I’ve got opinions on bagels and pizza and I can’t eat either around here.”

Bitty giggles and purses his lips around his spoon as he sucks it clean. “Apple pie, for me.”

“That’s, like, oddly specific.”

“It’s my MooMaw’s best recipe. I can’t order it anywhere, even south of the Mason-Dixon,” Bitty explains excitedly. Kent is actually really easy to talk to, when Bitty isn’t dying of embarrassment. “So I just bake my own. Now, you gotta take this to your grave but I’ve actually been fiddling with it a little—”

“You bake?” Kent asks, leaning forward onto his forearms with a spark in his eyes—they’re green, Bitty realizes, in the bright light of the store.

“Oh, yeah. I actually have a vlog and everythin’.” Bitty leans forward too, propped up on his elbows while he gestures with his spoon. “Or, well, I try to but the student kitchens are pretty awful, and the ovens somehow always smell like bagel bites? I tried to make some meringues last week and I  _ swear  _ they tasted like pepperoni.”

Kent’s eyes flick to the clock hanging on the wall to the side and then back to Bitty’s face. “I’ve got an oven.”

There’s a charged pause, the kind laden with a thrumming anticipation. Bitty teases, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were tryin’ to take me home.”

“I promise I’m not just using you for your pie,” Kent says, and fucking  _ winks. _

Bitty feels like he’s going to die all over again. But—it feels so much better this time—not all bogged down by expectation and worrying himself sick about all the things that could go wrong, and Kent is flirting with him, sure, but not because he’s trying to get laid tonight. Just—just because Bitty is fun to talk to, maybe, and they’re hanging out and maybe they can kiss again later, and—

Bitty asks, “What’s your favorite kind?”

Kent’s grin is utterly delighted. “Blueberry. I don’t have any though, so we’d have to swing by Stop ‘n Shop, is that cool? I’ll be your, uh—do bakers have sous chefs?”

Bitty laughs and tells him, “Somethin’ like that. And you best believe I’m putting you to work, Mister—uh—”

“Parson,” Kent supplies smugly, and stands to gather up their trash to throw away.

“Well, Mr. Parson,” Bitty says, not bothering to ignore the little flutter his heart does when Kent wraps an arm around his waist, “get ready to have your mind blown.”

Kent throws his head back in a laugh, then looks over at Bitty like he’s been issued a challenge. “Looking forward to it, Bits.”

 

~*~

 

**_Bitty (9:02 am):_ ** _ I made him a pie and we fell asleep cuddling on the couch _

**_March (9:05 am):_ ** _ GET IT BABE _

**_April (9:06 am):_ ** _ That’s so cute I could barf _

**_April (9:06 am):_ ** _ Are you gonna see him again? _

Bitty stretches delicately, trying to avoid jostling Kent awake, but he doesn’t quite manage it and Kent’s eyes blink open. They’re gray and half-lidded in the soft light filtering in through the curtains and there’s something in them that would feel like a promise, if Bitty looked for it. Kent presses a kiss to Bitty’s temple, nuzzles a little closer, and closes his eyes again like he might fall back asleep.

**_Bitty (9:09 am):_ ** _ Yeah :) _

 

**Author's Note:**

> I love Kent Parson with my entire trash heart! Come scream with me about him [on Tumblr <3](http://yoursummerfrost.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Froyo Closes at Eleven (And Other Convenient Truths)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13462446) by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods)
  * [[Podfic] Froyo Closes at Eleven (And Other Convenient Truths)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14404026) by [Hananobira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hananobira/pseuds/Hananobira)




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